


A life of breeding

by Cicuta_virosa



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Breeding, Breeding Bench, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, M/M, More like Everything is sex and nothing hurts, Mpreg, Pregnancy Kink, Timeline What Timeline, Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-22 15:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30041034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cicuta_virosa/pseuds/Cicuta_virosa
Summary: Jaskier is quite kinky, horny and ready to bend over for the most muscular monster hunters on the Continent. The moment he's out of Oxenfurt, he enrols in the breeding program, the new way of creating Witchers since the Trials disappeared.
Relationships: Aiden (The Witcher)/Lambert (The Witcher)/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Former Jaskier | Dandelion/Valdo Marx, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Vesemir, Jaskier | Dandelion/Witchers, Letho z Gulety | Letho of Gulet/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 136





	1. Chapter 1

Humanity tried to kill the Witchers. They killed their trainees, they burned down their Keeps, they almost destroyed the race of Hunters which had been created to protect them from monsters.

In a not very surprising for everybody with a brain result, monsters started to win back the place they had lost. Little by little, it became impossible to go from one settlement to another, even in numbers. Every caravan lost members. Some entire villages were wiped out by hungry monsters, which reproduced even more than before, well-fed and less hunted.

Less than thirty years after the pogrom, every king, queen, regent, every tyrant, was sending desperate messages to the last Keep standing, Kaer Morhen, where all the surviving Witchers from all the Schools had migrated.

But a few surviving Witchers couldn’t exactly take back an entire Continent from monsters, and the secrets to make them had been lost in the pogroms, the potions, the trials, lost and well lost, and every Witcher was of the opinion that it was good, that no child should ever been strapped down and feed poison.

Since Witchers couldn’t be made anymore, they had to be born and the most agile minds of witches and wizards put themselves together to solve the problems of Witchers’s sterility.

And that’s how it began.

Jaskier is twenty the first time he enters Kaer Morhen. Twenty and kinky as fuck. To be honest, he had asked his parents to be a part of the yearly volunteers of Redania for almost five years, but Witchers don’t take volunteers under eighteen, and his parents insisted for him to finish his education in Oxenfurt before. Jaskier passed the time at university sleeping with every volunteer, in every combination of Alpha/Beta/Omega he could, trying everything. And it was good, really. But no matters any kink he tried, no matters how many partners, nothing could made him forget that fantasy of a whole Witchers army bending him over and over to stuff him full, breeding him like a bitch, a pet.

After, his father threw his hands in the air and said Jaskier could do as he wanted, because in twenty years of existence he had never done anything else, and that if he wanted to play broodmare in the mountains for the next years, the title could go to one of his brothers. Jaskier suspects he wouldn’t have been so conciliatory if it wasn’t an honour. How the world has changed! Almost a century after the pogroms, it’s now an honour to have a family member send to the breeding program of Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier is twenty, the first time he enters the keep with the other volunteers of the year. He sees Witchers going around on their days, he sees the training grounds and his knees feel weak seeing Witcher fight, vicious, glorious, with muscles made to go against draconids and untold horrors.

Jaskier is twenty and naked under a mage’s critical eye. She’s named Sabrina Glevissig, is definitely an Alpha, and if he wasn’t obsessed by the idea of his first Witcher, he would definitely beg for a chance to be on his knees for her. Her hands touch everywhere, explore, clinical, with no false pretence: she wants to know if he’s healthy enough to bend over for Witchers and give them whole litters. In Kaer Morhen, Omega and Beta used as breeding bitches never have only one pup: there are potions for that. He’s hard as steel when she made him bend over for the slick speculum, and she laughs when he squirms, his entire face beet red.

“No need to be ashamed,” she tells him, “After all, everybody knows why you’re here. And almost every human is here for the same thing, to be the Witcher’s breeding bitches.”

After, she gives him the new potion, the one that will ensure he’s plenty fertile and she sits next to him on the examination table.

“Everybody can leave,” she explains again, “but not when they are pregnant. Every young Witcher must be born here.”

“Is there a lot of people who leave?”

“Some, after the first pregnancy. Those who only do it for the monetary reward of their sovereigns. They go back into the world, and they find good match, between the money and the certitude than they are fertile. But it’s no more than one in an hundred, as an average. Some stay and continue to be breed, but form a link with only one Witcher, or a few, who sire their later litters.”

“You can do that?”

“Of course. No Witchers will touch you without consent. And there is no jealousy between Witchers. Not even a whisper of it. If you can’t do it, you will simply be sent home with enough money to establish yourself.”

Jaskier is still beet red.

“Pretty sure it won’t be a problem.”

She smirks, and she continues:

“And some just stay, but never forms a link with just one Witcher. Simply continue to be of free use for every one of them, bred every year.”

Jaskier glares at her, wet and hard, painfully aroused and humiliated, and wanting that, so fucking hard. She pets his hair, laughing.

“There are a lot of Witchers,” she adds, “Some of them will certainly be more in tune with your own desires. Don’t hesitate to sample the wonders of the Keep. Once you’re pregnant, you can even bend over for the servants or the visitors, if you want, but only once your womb is busy with Witcher’s pups.”

She smiles, a little cruel, a lot amused, “I’m very good with a hairbrush on a nice ass, pretty sure you like being put in your place.” She adds, and Jaskier whines, because, fuck, yeah, he really, really does.

After, she gives him a long tunic, wool and fur, and light boots, and sends him on his way with a slap to the rear, with indications to find the northwest tower, where all the new arrivals are housed. Jaskier really thought there would be a little more ceremony on it.

His rooms are simple, but plenty comfortable, with a view of the mountains and a private washroom, and he just stays there the time to put his possessions down.

The mage told him to ask for Vesemir if he wanted an assignment to keep busy, and after a few questions for direction, he finds the old Wolf in his office with another Witcher, a giant of a man with no hair and shoulders going on for miles.

Jaskier gulps.

The potion works even faster than he thought: strong Alpha always made him wet, but only a whisper of their scent and he’s already wetter than he has been after a whole night in a brothel, when he had lost a bet with Valdo Marx and been sold like one of the whores all night, just when a whole platoon of Redanian soldiers had passed the week in town. He had made good money to Valdo that night, money that his friend had immediately used to buy Jaskier a very pretty silk camisole. Sometimes, after, when the longing for Kaer Mohren had been too much, he had go back to the brothel. The Madame had taken half his pay, more than for her girls, but it was the only way he could get the thrill of getting used enough. Most of the time, he had put the money in one of the collection boxes of the temples, for the poor. He had serviced people of all the Continent, learned a lot, and when he had left, after graduation, the Madame had gifted him a nice set of anal beads, which he had used a lot during his one month stay at Lettenhove, before his departure for Kaer Morhen. He had left them as a parting gift with one of his father’s soldiers, an old sergeant who had loved to see Jaskier play with them, and who would have liked to see him stay. But Jaskier could never been have satisfied this way, even his lover accepted easily to share him with the other soldiers.

The old Wolf sniffs the air, and barks a laugh.

“New here, hmm? Come closer, pup.” The other Witcher smirks as he leave them, despite Vesemir’s offer to share, simply groping Jaskier’s ass on his way to the door.

“Name’s Letho, pretty pet, come to get me when you’re tired of the puppies!”

And that’s how Jaskier is introduced to how things are done in the last Witchers Keep, simply, without false pretence. There is a comfortable, padded bench in the office, specifically put here so Vesemir can take pleasant breaks without risking the papers on his table, and the old Wolf bent Jaskier, naked save the boots, on it. He mouths at Jaskier’s neck and the young man has the strange impression of a predator keeping its female in place. Vesemir definitely knows what he’s doing with his cock, but doesn’t try to make it longer. He goes slow until he’s sure Jaskier can handle him, then he fucks him powerfully, making him take every inch of a long, curved cock. He makes Jaskier come, but it’s perfunctory, clear in its intention: Jaskier’s pleasure is nice, but the important part is definitely not his cock. The important part is the womb Vesemir is currently breeding and the delicious humiliation of being treated as nothing more than a breeding bitch has Jaskier coming harder than ever the second Vesemir’s callused hand touches his cock. The Witcher has a dark laugh against his skin:

“Good bitch,” he praises, “hope your womb is as active as your cute little cocklet,” and Jaskier’s cock is already trying to get hard again, painfully so.

The Witcher fucks him for a few moments more, rutting in him harder and comes, his knot locking him into Jaskier’s cunt. Jaskier can feel drool escaping from his mouth, but he seems to have lost control of his body, floating in pleasure, panting against the padded leather. He whines, because the knot is bigger than some fists he has taken in Oxenfurt, and the Witcher spanks him a few times on both cheeks, making Jaskier yelps.

“Not the bigger here, pup, better adjust quick.” He laughs again. “Don’t be afraid. After a fortnight, you’ll never feel too tight again. Kaer Morhen’s bitches have well used cunts. And some of the boys like to play, too, see what objects make a bitch come harder.”

Despite the crude words, he’s careful, almost tender, when he dismounts, and he helps Jaskier clean up a little with a basin of water, before giving him a wooden plug, the bigger Jaskier has ever seen.

“You would be leaking semen everywhere you go,” he explains, and he laughs again when he sees Jaskier’s face. After, he interrogates him on his studies, his knowledges, to find him a place in the well-oiled mechanic of the Keep.

“People get crazy if they have nothing to do, nothing more than getting ploughed and grow future Witchers in their bellies.” He tells Jaskier and he’s pleasantly encouraging about his music, and well educated if his questions are proof. Jaskier ends the interviews with a one month trial as a grammar professor for the children four morning a week, and three times a week doing music during dinner. He brought his lute from Oxenfurt and Vesemir promises him he will find him other instruments if he desires. Of course, once Jaskier is pregnant, it will be adjusted, and if it bores him, Vesemir will also find him something else.

The Omega spent the rest of the afternoon on the bench, not tied but with no desire to leave, half sleeping, half daydreaming. The room is warm, the bench comfortable. Sometimes when another Witcher enters the room to speak with Vesemir and doesn’t have pressing matters, he takes the plug of Jaskier’s hole and puts his cock inside instead. Most of them don’t even tell him their names, treating him as nothing more than a warm hole to stick their knot. It’s humiliating and perfect, exactly what Jaskier hoped. Some makes him come, some don’t, and sometimes he comes untouched when the knot is particularly impressive, but he doesn’t touch himself, just float here in pleasure and lust, taking load after load. Twice, Vesemir gives him tea with honey, telling him Jaskier needs to take good care of himself, to keep himself in good health for the future litters before helping him on the bench again. Letho comes back late in the afternoon and this time, nobody is waiting for him after, so he uses Jaskier’s ass once, and his mouth twice. He likes to pinch nipples, to push his thumb inside Jaskier’s rim at the same time as his cock and his hands are so big, he can put them around Jaskier’s waist entirely.

“Good recruit,” he says to Vesemir after, “Don’t know how he takes seed, but he sure is a good toy.”, and Jaskier whines in pleasure at the words, around the knot forcing his jaw open.

Later that night, Vesemir brings him to the Wolff’s School table, where Jaskier sits between him and an Omega starting to show. She has a collar around her throat, with a snarling Wolf medallion, a sign she decided she was only for the School of the Wolf.

“Priscilla,” the woman presents herself, and when she sees Jaskier eying her belly:

“Don’t be jealous,” she smiles, “it will come very quickly. Just bend over at every opportunity and soon you won’t be able to see your feet.” She spends half the dinner speaking with him about the life in the Keep, she has been there four years, is on her third pregnancy, and the rest of it being gently bounced on Vesemir’s knees as he plays with her cunt, and Jaskier must admit it’s a beautiful spectacle. She’s still nursing the twin of her last pregnancy and at dessert, Vesemir simply opens her dress and takes a taste, making her mewl even harder than when he had three fingers in her.

On the other side of the table, there is Rennes, the Master of the Wolf School, who spends the meal interrogating Jaskier about his life in Oxenfurt and praising him for coming here after his studies, his brain as useful as his womb. Jaskier immediately decides that nobody can ever know it was his father’s decision and that Jaskier would have ran here as soon as he knew what his cunt was for, if his parents hadn’t monitored him. In his defence, he was raised on the country side, and he learned a lot of interesting stuffs in the haystacks with the young peasants Alpha, it wasn’t exactly an education giving him the habits of moderation. 

Later that night, one of the Wolf, Lambert, brings Jaskier back to his own room, where his partner Aiden and him knot Jaskie’s hole and mouth so many times he loses count. They are clearly in love with each other and Jaskier feels like a toy used to spice their night, the fact reinforced by the words of Aiden, who calls him a perfect little cocksleeve. He adores it. The last thing he feels is the plug being carefully inserted again in him, and he sinks into sleep, a smile on his mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

In the morning, Aiden guides Jaskier to the hot springs.

“Why do my rooms have a wash rooms if you have that in the basement?” Jaskier asks, curious, once the doors open into the enormous caverns.

“When you’re on the last month of triplets, you’ll be happy to have a bath less than five meters of your bed,” Aiden bets, and he pinches Jaskier’s ass, making him squeal. Jaskier has always been promiscuous, since he was fifteen years old and had sucked his first cock, attached to a sixteen years old cowherd beta working for his father, but there is something to the easy dealing of Kaer Mohren with sex that he will need a little time to get used to without getting red.

There are two parts to the hot springs. In the first one, people just want to get washed in peace. It’s a place for discussing with friends, for washing the children, for soaking for hours when a pregnancy give back pain. In the second part….well, he can always refuse, Aiden reminds him, but if he’s in the second part, Witchers will think he’s interested in getting frisky, and ask.

“Yes, please,” Jaskier says immediately, even if Lambert had him this morning before going to a Wolf’s meeting. It was very strange, Aiden and Lambert talking about the day to come, as Lambert rutted into Jaskier, just as if emptying his balls into the young Omega was a simple morning chore, like washing his teeth, as if Jaskier was nothing more than a warm cunt. By all the gods, Jaskier had been here not even a day, and already patting himself on the back for his good decision.

They find a pool, a little out of the way, and Jaskier sinks into the warm water with a pleased gasp. Aiden follows and reaches out for him immediately. It’s only once Jaskier is firmly knotted, his back against Aiden’s chest, that the Cat starts to name people they can see from their pool, casually fondling Jaskier’s cock at the same time, his knot pulsing easily into Jaskier’s cunt.

“You know Sabrina?” He asks, as they watch the Witch getting eaten out by a very pregnant beta, as another beautiful woman kiss her. “The woman with her is Margarita Laux-Antilles, she’s the rector of Aretuza. She’s visiting Sabrina once a month. The Beta bitch, no idea, to be honest. Pretty sure I fucked him, but well…”

“They are, the witches…”

“Yep. But two enchantress, it’s a recipe for disaster, so they never go to bed without a sweet toy with them.” He puts a big hand on the still-flat belly of Jaskier, pressing a little. “One hundred per cent would recommend, once you’re breed. Let’s see… The one with the strange moustache is the older Witcher alive, Erland of Larvik, he founded the Griffin School, he has stories like you can’t fucking imagine! The pretty little thing he’s fucking is named Essie, I think, she sings sometimes at dinner, you’re gonna like her, the one watching is a Manticore named Merten, he likes to take bitches under the stars during the nights, behind them there is-oh, eh, Eskel, hello.”

A scarred Witcher enters their pool and Aiden continues: “Jaskier, Eskel, Eskel, Jaskier. Eskel is one of the Wolf and Jaskier here is a charming new arrival, coming all the way from Redania to take our knots, he’s one of the new bitches arrived yesterday.”

Eskel has a pleasant smile, shoulders calling for songs, and he doesn’t do mystery of the way he watches Jaskier’s body. Once Aiden’s knot leaves Jaskier’s hole, the Cat pushes him firmly into Eskel’s arms, patting his ass a last time in good bye:

“Need to run, pretty bitch, hope we see each other again,” and he watches without a whisper of possessively or jealousy, as he washes himself quickly, as Eskel pins Jaskier on the edge of the pool. One broad finger pushes into Jaskier, soon two, three, as his mouth devours the young Omega’s lips.

“I’m more than ready”, Jaskier protests at the fourth, then he looks better and gasps as he sees Eskel’s cock, a young tree trunk more than a human cock.

“Bent over,” Eskels orders and Jaskier obeys immediately, trembling in desire. He mewls as Eskel pushes his cockhead inside, kissing his shoulders, his neck, as a way to encourage him, nipping playfully the curve of his ear.

“So, so big,” Jaskier moans.

“Yeah, I know. You can take it, little bitch, sweet pet. Just like that, breathe.” Eskel gives him just a little time before going for more and Jaskier babbles into his arms, folded under his head. Eskel presses and presses and presses, conquering his cunt like a Witcher overcomes a monster; with no mercy and quite strength. Jaskier’s mind is blank, pleasure the only thing existing anymore, just an empty vessel for Eskel’s cock, just a warm cunt for Eskel’s pleasure and a fertile womb for Eskel’s seed.

He has never taken something so big, not even in the brothel when two twin Dwarwen merchants had paid handsomely the Madam for the right to double fists him. At the time, he had needed almost three weeks before taking something in his hole again, three long weeks he had hated, being such a brat Valdo had finally to take a switch to his thighs to help him release the tension, before putting him in a spider gag and leaving him a whole afternoon under one of the most secluded desk in the university library. He had serviced so many cocks, professors most of them, he had felt better after, but still sworn he would be more careful with his hole. Now with the potion, he knows Eskel could take him every hour for a week without trouble, but it’s still overwhelming.

A cock is suddenly before his eyes and he doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t even look up to see the Witcher attached to it, just opens his mouth and accepts it. The Witcher kneeling on the edge of the pool feeds him his dick carefully first, testing the capacity of Jaskier’s mouth, and Jaskier tilts his head at a better angle, more instinct than anything else, and the cock passes his gag reflex, nesting itself into his throat. A hand knots itself into his hair, directing his mouth, not harsh, but firm. Jaskier’s throat is made for that, this hand says, a warm sheath for cock, just another hole for Witchers to empty their balls. And then they find a rhythm, the unknown Witcher and Eskel, filling Jaskier with long, powerful strokes, he feels like Eskel’s cockhead could touch his cervix, like the other goes so deep it’s less his throat and more his stomach.

“Good bitch,” Eskel growls lowly, “gonna breed you good. Know you came here for that. Gonna keep you dripping, always a cock in you. Such a good Witcher’s toy. Like that, sweet thing. Just let go, take it, take us, take our cocks, such a beautiful bitch.”

Jaskier wails when the growing knot catches his rim for the first time and when it forces its way inside, he comes, with no touch on his own dick, pleasure whitening out the world around him. The knot is proportional to the monster between the Witcher’s legs and Jaskier feels himself parting for the hard flesh, conquered, taken. Eskel swears, takes him harder, his hands a steel vice on his hips, and comes too, his knot locking, so big Jaskier comes a second time immediately, something terribly rare for Omega male. The cock in his throat pulses, the knot locking behind his teeth, pushing his jaw to the maximum. Jaskier can’t taste the semen like that, but he already knows since the day before Witchers came more than ordinary Alpha, and something dances in his guts at the idea of the full belly of it he’s gonna get, how totally possessed he is, caught between two knots.

He’s stuck, spitroasted between two pulsing knots, his nose against the other Witcher’s hard belly, and he adores everything. He can’t wait for the seed catching, for going on all fours, a Witcher in each hole, and the litter weighting him down, a Witcher’s bitch, bred and used, full of pups he won’t know who the sire is.

Witcher’s whores, people who oppose the breeding program call them, and Jaskier doesn’t see the problem in it. He floats a moment, only half present, as the two Witchers converse, petting him absently as they continue to come in him.

When the knot in his mouth disengages, Jaskier looks up, into the yellow eyes of a Witcher he hadn’t meet yet, with white hair and a jaw like a marble statue.

“My brother Geralt,” Eskel presents, dismounting Jaskier carefully.

“I’m Jaskier,” the young Omega says, and strangely he blushes when he hears how his voice is marked by the cock who just played in his throat.

“Hmmm, nice mouth”, the Witcher praises, and he pets his head, before entering the pool too, and continuing “Already had breakfast or you just hungry for cock?”

And that’s how Jaskier takes his first breakfast in the Keep, in the Great Hall, on Geralt’s lap, with the Witcher casually fondling his nipples through the tunic. Jaskier likes that, doesn’t make a mystery of it, his head abandoned on Geralt’s shoulder. The Witcher laughs, murmuring in his ear that he should ask Vesemir for nipple clamps if he likes that, because once he’s pregnant, they will be too sensitive. On the other side of the table, Eskel is remarking that nipple piercings would be quite pretty on Jaskier and that if he ever wants a piercing, anywhere, he should go see a Viper named Horik.

After, he meets with some of the other human in charge of the schooling of the children, learning more about the numbers of kids he will be in charge of. Grammar was taught before his arrival by an aging Omega, whose ninth pregnancy is beginning to get too advanced for work, and she’s quite happy to leave Jaskier with her whole class material.

Once they are done, Jaskier walks to the training ground, where he finds Gerald, wiping out the floor with an enormous Bear Witcher. Apparently, it’s a normal training, despite the violence of it, because after they leave the ring with arms throw around the other shoulder, good naturally, and invite simply Jaskier to go with them. The young Omega ends up kneeling on the floor in Geralt’s room, in front of the fire place. He’s sucking Geralt’s again, or more letting Geralt fucks his face, as the Bear takes him hard. This time, Geralt doesn’t knot his mouth, just uses his throat, edging himself again and again, and when the Bear’s knot go down and the Witcher leaves for lunch, Geralt takes his place. He rolls Jaskier on the rug, have him present, on his knees, head on the floor, well, the rug, his hands keeping his ass cheeks open, and he takes him with force, mounting him long and hard, until he roars and knots him.

After, there is a perfunctory turn with the wash basin for the two of them and Jaskier is sent on his way with a slap on the ass and a spring in his steps. All day he explores the Keep, from the deep dungeons, where before children were mutated into Witchers and which have been turned into an enormous wine cellars, to the highest towers, where the mages have installed an observatory for studying the stars.

Sometimes a Witcher stops what he’s doing, gives Jaskier a flattering gaze and the young Omega is bent over the nearest table or window still, a questing hand taking out his plug and a forceful cock replacing it. The potion really is a wonder: even a well-trained slut like Jaskier would have been horribly sore by now, normally, instead there is just the pleasure of knots filling his cunt, again and again, and firm hands directing him, strong bodies using him and the delicious humiliation of the pet names. He loves it, loves to be called pretty bitch, loves the casual way he’s used, and the warm breath against his neck when they speak of breeding him like a broodmare.

He doesn’t sleep in his bed this night either: a Griffin who had used him before dinner takes him with him to their table, then to his own rooms, and Jaskier is so exhausted by his perfect day that he feels asleep on his third knotting, just vaguely emerging during the night when his bed mate rolls him over and uses him again.


End file.
